


Sighs from Within

by Darienne_LeFey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darienne_LeFey/pseuds/Darienne_LeFey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaste kisses on the battlements and stolen moments of frustrated temptation have taken their toll. Darienne is beginning to think that the Commander's feelings have cooled... how wrong she is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut alert!!! 
> 
> This is an alternative to Darienne and Cullen's first night together. I'm having a blast writing it, hope you enjoy!!  
> PS... this contains the same characters as "Through the Looking Glass" but I may go a different way for this moment in that story... the possibilities are endless!
> 
> Comments are welcome - they inspire me to write more :)

The all too familiar pressure of his hands gently pushing her hips from him laced the last touch of his kiss with bittersweet longing. He was always the one that pulled away; leaving her to stand on the battlements and let the wind finish the kiss he would not. A distant smile touched his lips as he squeezed her hand before turning to retreat to his command post once again. She could fairly feel the hum of messengers, scribes and scouts closing in on him as he opened his office door. She bit her lip as he paused before going through the doorway, his hands clenching briefly, then he stepped through closing it behind him. He never glanced back.

 

Leaning back on the cool stone, Darienne glanced out over the mountains. She didn’t want the patrolmen to see the disappointment on her face. She hated to admit that she was hurt. It bothered her to no end that she seemed more taken with him than he with her. Rubbing her temples, she sighed. He’d been right when he’d first hesitated entering into a relationship – such as it was. They were at war. She was the Inquisitor and he, the Commander of a force larger than any other amassed in Thedas save the Wardens conscription against the Blights. They were trying to prevent the end of the world and the ascension of some insane monster. Perhaps romance had no place.

 

Still, there was a fire that burned in her when he was near. They’d come to be friends and more, but she’d always felt a deep pull toward him, one that warmed her in places that made her blush. When he’d kissed her for the first time, her knees went weak. Since then though, he’d kept a tight rein on his feelings. She wanted him and it rankled her pride and hurt her heart that he did not appear to be as impassioned about her. Perhaps she was simply a pleasant distraction for him. She shook her head and stalked toward the tavern, she refused to walk through his office to get to the keep. She needed to shake this off. She needed, of all things, to have someone tell her she was crazy and he was clearly mad not to lust after her…

 

“Ahh, if it isn’t my lovely little unicorn,” Dorian tossed the book he’d been reading into the air, it floated gently to land open-faced on the page he’d been studying moments before, “Dear me, sulking are we? Did our esteemed Ambassador threaten you with another dinner party to entertain some grasping Marquis seeking a suitable female upon who to burden with his heirs?”

 

“At least they feign interest,” Darienne sat next to the mage and leaned on his shoulder.

 

“Oh my,” he frowned, “what’s he done?”

 

“Nothing,” Darienne pouted, “that’s the problem.”

 

“Is he blind?” Dorian exclaimed, “I know he’s not playing in my field, so frankly my dear, I cannot imagine what would possess a man to keep his hands off you!”

 

Darienne laughed and kissed his dusky cheek. He always knew what to say.

 

“Thank you,” she smiled, “I was beginning to feel sorry for myself.”

 

“Well, we can’t have that now can we,” he fondled his sculpted chin and favoured her with a devious grin, “Clearly our Commander is either a fool or there is something else going on.”

 

“Oh?” she looked at him, eyes narrowed. He knew something.

 

He glanced sideways at her a moment and shook his head.

 

“Unicorn,” he turned to her and brushed a stray copper strand from her cheek, “for such an intelligent, powerful and intuitive woman, you are an idiot – Don’t look at me like that! Honestly we all thought you were stringing him along and torturing the poor man. Of course, I should have known better… ”

 

>>>>> 

 

Rylen was as thorough and trustworthy as any man he knew, but his reports were longer and more detailed than he had the patience for… particularly today. Leaning back in his chair, Cullen rubbed his temples, praying to Andraste that the damned scout would either hurry up or learn to summarize. He didn’t bloody care if the latest patrol encountered two varghasts or three or what shade of scale they’d harvested.

 

The ache in his head was very quickly becoming a throb that he knew would keep him up all night. If he continued at this pace, the lyrium thralls would overwhelm him and he couldn’t afford for anyone to witness that. Least of all Darienne. His control was failing. He wished he could just take one day away from this and rest. One day.

 

The telltale rage began to roil in his gut. He needed to move, he needed quiet. He needed the bloody scout to shut up and leave before he sprung across the table and pummeled the hapless idiot into silence. The thought was far more appealing than he cared to admit.

 

“Thank you Lieutenant Karn, that will be all for now.”

 

Cullen looked up at the soft lilt of her voice. She was never loud, save in battle, and even then her high voice was a point of some amusement to her fellow companions. There was power in that voice though, there was no mistaking it. When she spoke, gentle as the sound was, she was heard.

 

The Lieutenant stuttered to a stop, surprise evident in his face. Turning to the woman behind him, he hastily saluted.

 

“Inquisitor!” he stammered. “I was just updating Commander Rutherford on the situation in the Western Approach. There is still more – “

 

Cullen saw those beautiful eyes glance at him from the dim light of the doorway, seeing far more than he wanted, then returning to the eager Karn.

 

“I’m sure that Knight-Captain Rylen has given a report that has spared no detail. Is there anything that is of urgent concern that must be dealt with tonight?”

 

There was a coolness in her words that brooked no argument.

 

“Err… no, my lady.” The lieutenant wrung his hands, eyes darting back and forth between his superiors.

 

“In that case, you are dismissed for the evening,” her words were gentle but laced with a steel that was unmistakable, “The Commander is not to be disturbed, I have important business to discuss with him.”

 

The shocked scout saluted and fairly flew out of his office. The figure at the door hesitated a moment then stepped fully into the light. She was cloaked against the chill of the evening, her hair blown loose from the delicate fastening she so often used to keep it up when at the keep. He caught her profile as she turned and closed the door gently, fastening the lock behind her. He swallowed, the thrum in the back of his head intensified. Clearly the business she had was serious. Cold quenched the anger in his gut as fear took its place. He looked down and began to shuffle papers on the desk, anything to not think about what dire news she might bring. What he would do when she told him that she did not want to be with him, not that he’d blame her. If only he’d been better at telling her. If only he’d not held back. If only…

 

“Cullen,” her delicate fingers brushed the hard line of his jaw, gently drawing his face upward.

 

She removed her cloak and let it fall to the floor. His breath caught in his throat. She wore a simple dress of pale lavender fastened below her bust, emphasizing the slimness of her waist and curves that made him ache with a hunger he’d fought very hard to subdue. Her shoulders were bared and her décolletage did little to hide the swell of her generous chest as she took a deep breath, kneeling before him.

 

Clenching his fists, he drank her in. Large hazel eyes framed with dark lashes, exotic and fathomless gazed up at him. High cheek bones and noble features that held the delicacy of a finely sculpted goddess lost in lore long past. Her hair framed her lovely face. He wanted to breathe her in, feel his hands tangled in those silken strands. Soft skin the colour of peaches and cream, Maker, he wanted to taste every inch of her. Lips that reminded him of the first roses of summer. He wanted to see them swollen and heady with lust, taste them as they were crushed against his own, opening to him. Her body, sumptuous and supple. Breasts that more than filled his large hands, imagining the tender buds he’d lick and nip to be the same petal pink as her lips. A slender waist and hips he could cling to as she drove him beyond. His gaze flowed up her legs, hidden beneath the folds of the dress, but he knew well their shape; imagined those soft thighs cushioning his thrusts, fantasizing about the treasure he wanted to lose himself in. Maker preserve him, he wanted her. Now.

 

Tightening his jaw, he turned from her. He needed to maintain control. He didn’t want to hurt her. Fear gave way to lust and he felt the heat rise in his loins. Shifting in his seat, he wanted, needed, to get up and walk away.

 

“Cullen,” her eyes worried now, “please, I need to speak with you.”

 

She dropped her hand to his knee and his thrust himself out of the chair, putting as much space between them as he could. Lust and rage were dangerous bedfellows and the lyrium withdrawal cared little for which he chose to vent his need.

 

“Darienne,” his voice low and tense, “this is not a good time. Please…”

 

 “It will never be a good time, Cullen,” she stood, arms crossed and head cocked to the side, “Please, just talk to me.”

 

“About what, exactly?!” the combination of fear and anger and lust cracking his carefully constructed façade, “the fact that we are at war? The fact that I have no idea what to – how to be with you? I am not sure I can. You don’t know everything, though Maker knows I’ve wanted to tell you, but how can I? I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting you. I… I, don’t want to lose – “

 

“Lose me?!” anger flushed her cheeks as she stalked around the desk to stand in front of him. Her eyes taking on the earthy quality of dark jade as she looked up at him, every inch the fierce lioness he wanted to bed, “I know Cullen. I know about the lyrium. I spoke with Cassandra and if you think me so shallow as to leave you for that or expect you to give up on something that is so important to who you are, then you clearly no very little of me. I trust you implicitly; with the forces, as my military advisor, as the Commander of the Inquisition… with me.”

 

Her fire spent, she looked at him in a way he’d never thought to be seen.

 

“You won’t lose me Cullen. I want to be with you.”

 

“I – I don’t want to hurt you.” He growled, “I – “

 

He reached for her and drew back. The candle light danced over her and the look she gave him became more heat than he was able to resist. He turned from her and walked to the door. With every inch of self-control he still possessed he unlatched it and held it open for her.

 

“You need to leave, please.”

 

He refused to look at her, but he heard the soft intake of breath. He’d hurt her and he knew it. But he feared what would happen if she stayed. There would be no going back. He’d make her his. He would take her in every way a man could have a woman. It was more than the lyrium or lust that drove him and he knew it. They were factors, yes, but if he was honest with himself, he loved her and the desire to take her was a primitive and possessive drive that was overwhelming. He’d felt lust before, indulged in it on occasion in the past, this was different. He wanted to feel her and give himself to her as much as he wanted to claim her as his own.  

 

Darienne stared at the man before her. His head was bowed and she could see his broad shoulders quivering with tension. Measured breaths moved his breastplate in a steady well controlled rhythm. Quietly, she walked to the door, reaching to touch his hand. He flinched and she withdrew, stepping out into the cool night without a word.

 

Trembling, he closed the door, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. He wanted to go get her. He wanted to apologise to explain that he didn’t want to let a lyrium thrall taint his passion for her. He wanted so much and deserved none of it. The vibration of a knock on the wood startled him and he opened it without thinking.

 

“No,” Darienne pushed passed the door and stood toe to toe with her Commander. She was not going to let this pass. She deserved to know where he stood. This wasn’t about the lyrium, not really, and they both knew it.

 

She watched as his initial surprise passed and those amber eyes darkened. He crossed his arms and straightened his shoulders, an intimidation technique she’d seen cow recruits and nobles alike. Despite her ire, he made her shiver. He was masculinity personified. The muscles in his jaw twitched as he clenched his mouth shut, the scar on his lip whitening. By the Gods she wanted to taste him, to nip at that mark and make his breath come faster and faster. But she would not beg. She refused to chase a man. If he did not want her, fine, it would be her ego that suffered the greatest injury; a lie she told her heart as she breathed in the musky scent of leather, armour and… him. She deserved to know and she wouldn’t play this game any longer.

 

She narrowed her eyes and looked up at him, trying to keep her resolve. His nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath and she could have sworn she heard a rumbling in his chest akin a growl. She fought to resist the urge to touch him, to trace her fingers over that scar. To caress the line of his jaw and run her hands through his blond mane. She wanted to see his hair tousled and tangled in her fingers as he feasted on the heat between her thighs. The thought came unbidden and she felt warmth flow through her and a blush creep over her face. Her breath caught as she tried desperately to regain her composure. She refused to back down.

 

“No,” she repeated, shaking her head, “I am not going anywhere. If you don’t want me, I will respect that and offer you only friendship, if that is your wish. But if you are holding back for some reason, then at least tell me. Right now I feel like I’m chasing you around.”

 

“I know we’re at war,” she hugged her arms closer around her, “I’m well aware of the consequences should we fail. Perhaps you’re right, maybe there isn’t room for this, for us. But I want to make room. I am willing to, but not if you won’t.”

 

She risked a glance at him. His expression remained dark. He did not answer, merely clenched his fists and refused to meet her gaze. Solemnly, she regarded the twilight eve that darkened the loneliness that waited outside the door. Wind danced through her hair and she felt the cool mountain winds prickle over her skin. So be it.

 

 _Stubborn bastard_.

 

Clenching her hands, Darienne reached for the open door determined to at very least have the satisfaction of slamming it closed. There was a shift in the air as her hand closed over empty space. She barely had time to register the heavy thud of the door closing and the metallic scrape of the lock clicking into place before she found herself thrust against the cool stone of the Commander’s office. Instinct and surprise registered before reality and her initial movements to escape her position were quelled instantly by a large hand grasping her waist and holding her firmly against the wall. She gasped and felt the worn leather of his glove protect the back of her head from hitting the stone before entangling her hair and pulling her head back to meet his lips.

 

The kiss was deep and fierce. She felt his power, the very force of him quivering to overtake his control. He pulled back, his breath still hot on her skin. She inhaled the heady scent of him as his hand tilted her head to the side, his lips and stubble grazing the delicate skin on her cheek. Thunder rumbled deep in his throat as he nipped the edge of her jaw, then the soft lobe of her ear.

 

“I do not want to be your friend. If you want to know what I’ve been holding back, Darienne, then let me show you.”


	2. The Lion and the Lioness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lion is not as in control as he thinks.... or perhaps, he his. After all, it is not him on his knees...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explicit.... Rawr....

 

His voice was husky, the smooth burn of whiskey rolling over her skin as he nuzzled her hair and murmured her name. The gentle scrape of his teeth sent sparks of lightning through her, as he bit the delicate flesh of her neck; using his body to hold her fast against the wall. His hand slid from her waist and grasped her chin as his mouth found her lips once again. She opened for him, inviting his tongue to take her as he wanted. He pressed his knee between her thighs and leaned his hips into her, forcing her to her toes. Moaning into his kiss, she felt heat flood through her belly as she clutched the fur of his cloak.

 

The worn leather of his gloves was rough over her skin as he dragged his hands down over her shoulders. Her hand grasped his pauldrons and instinctively curled her leg over his thigh as his weight shifted. She felt as much as heard his sharp intake of breath before the muffled clang of leather and metal hit the floor.

 

Groaning inwardly, he forced himself to slow down. The hiss of fabric and the soft heat of her leg as she curled it over his thigh demanded that he touch her, feel her, explore every silken inch of her body. He leaned into her, hesitant to relinquish his hold on her softness. With a practiced movement, his gloves and vambraces fell to the floor. The distraction cost him some control. Delicate hands grasped his face. Her thumb brushed the scar over his lips before she pulled his mouth to hers, gently biting his lower lip.

 

Thunder roiled through him. Her hands followed the sharp angle of his jaw and elegant fingers ran through his hair, tangling themselves in the disheveled waves. He needed to step away or he’d simply rip her dress and claim her then and there. He wanted to feel her against his skin. He cupped her face with his hands, marvelling at how soft it was, despite all the times he’d brushed her cheek longingly or run his hands through her hair.

 

“Maker…” his voice cracked as he forced himself to pull back. She leaned against the stone, her lips swollen and the most erotic shade of rose he could imagine. He knew that that same blushing succulence awaited his attentions elsewhere. With practiced movements, he unbuckled his armour and let pauldrons and breastplate alike fall to the floor. The sharp ring of metal on stone was foreign to his ears, never in all his years had he treated his armour with such disregard. It mattered not, there was only the need to feel her warmth against him.

 

She watched him, eyes that moments before had been shadowed with anger gazed at him though long lashes, their rich colour luminescent in the torchlight. Maker’s Breath but she was beautiful. He found himself still, drinking her in. He wanted to etch this moment in his memory. Savouring the way the warm light flickered over her skin, the way her lower lip teased to plumpness between her teeth and delicate hands traced the laced edge of fabric taught against her breasts – an unspoken invitation his body ached to accept. Just this brief moment, as he reined in his desire, stillness in his admiration for this woman; a woman that literally held the world in the palm of her hand, who defied monsters and gods and men with a resoluteness that few kings possessed and here she stood before him soft, luscious and vulnerable. This was the calm before the storm, he knew.

 

Lust and desire overtook him again, the stillness passed and the throbbing in his body demanded succour. He looked her over again, heat building in his groin. She was going to scream his name over and over. The ferocity in his thoughts clearly registered on his face. Darienne’s eyes widened as he stalked toward her, breath caught in her throat. He did not register the mischievous glint in her eyes until he reached for her.

 

Sidestepping, she grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her, using a roll of her hips to spin him. His mouth twitched with faint amusement as he let her follow through. It was a close-quarters combat move he’d taught her only months earlier, it was also one he could have easily used to force her to the ground. The knowledge that she’d be entirely at the mercy of his lust did little for his control. He clenched his fists and grunted as his back hit the stone wall. It was only the feel of her warm hands spread over his chest that held him at bay. He would let her play at control… for now.

 

Leaning into him, she grabbed the collar of his tunic and stood on her toes as she pulled him to her. Her soft lips pressed into his, small deft tongue pushing through to entwine with his own. His little lioness was hungry. Very well. He returned the fervour of her kiss; he would be more than happy to feed her.

 

The fine fabric of her dress did little to hide the softness beneath as his hands grasped her hips and spread over the alluring curve of her lower back. His thoughts strayed to visions of how that arched bow of creamy flesh would feel beneath his hands when he bent her over the desk not three strides away.  The impetus of that desire was cut short as those delicate hands grasped his wrists and pushed them back against the wall. The near painful nip she gave his lower lip emphasized her dominance and he growled with pleasure. He liked the game… but he would win.

 

Satisfied that he’d behave for the moment, she ran her hands up his arms as she brought her mouth to the sharp edge of his jaw, placing gentle kisses along its length. Her breath was warm on his skin as her soft wet tongue played at his ear between nips and petal soft kisses. It was excruciating. He leaned his head back and bit his lower lip, grasping at the stone wall to keep from putting his hands on her. 

 

She nuzzled his neck and pulled back to look into his eyes as her hands tucked beneath his tunic. The feel of her skin on his brought a groan to his lips. She traced the flow of muscle and scar up across his stomach, lingering a moment as her fingers spread through the light patch of hair that dusted his chest. On her toes again, she leaned into him, her slender finger tracing a line down the center of his abdomen, following the short blond curls that he knew well led beneath his breeches. She kissed his collar bone and he felt another pulse as he thickened yet more. Maker have mercy, he was already pressed painfully against the restraints of his pants.

 

“You won’t be needing this,” her breathy voice touched his ear as she gently took the sensitive lobe between her teeth and slid his shirt up his body.

 

Desperate for something to do with his hands other than rip her dress to the floor, he pulled his tunic over his head and threw it to the ground. Her eyes roamed admiringly over his torso and fell to the bulge of his cock straining against the containment of his breeches. Her mouth opened in surprise and he heard a small gasp from those delicate lips as she looked up at him, eyes wide.  Even in this state of arousal, he felt a flush touch his cheeks. He moved to touch her only to find himself pushed back against the wall again. She wasn’t finished yet, it would seem.

 

The scent of her flooded over him as she pressed her body against him, one hand tracing the scar on his lip as she kissed his neck. Small delicate brushes of her petal soft lips mingled with flicks of her warm tongue as she traced the length of his neck and nipped gently at his shoulder. The back of her hand brushed his cheek and her fingers trailed the fine hairs on the back of his neck before sliding her palm down his chest, meeting her mouth as her pink tongue traced circles around his hard nipple. A gentle sucking kiss to the dusky hardened flesh brought a hiss to his lips as her hands caressed the hard lines of his stomach. Her breath a warm breeze over his chest as she nuzzled his chest hair as her hands traced those soft blond curls to the top of his pants, her fingers teasing at the seam. Fists clenched, he bit his lip and put his head back against the cool stone as he felt the pulse in his loins speed up. His breeches were beyond uncomfortable, her coyness doing nothing to ease his desire. He swallowed and groaned, feeling her fingers loop around the drawstring keeping him contained.

 

The sound of silk on stone caught his attention and he glanced down at her. Wide eyes, reminiscent of the forest at twilight looked back at him and a full mouth teased at a smirk as she slid down the length of his body to her knees. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself without words, save an incoherent blessing to the Maker. Her lips tease the muscled flesh of his abdomen as her hands slid up his thighs to his hips and pushed him back, yet again, into the wall. She glanced up at his muttered oath, and the view of her cleavage as she pressed her bosom against his throbbing cock was too much. He took her face in his hand, running his fingers back through her hair, unclasping the fastening that held her auburn tresses at bay. Silken strands slid through his fingers as he closed his fist, pulling her closer to him. She nipped his wrist, but he ignored her. He was too far gone to play any longer. He clenched a little harder, and released as her breath caught, before once again stroking her hair back from her face. The façade of power was well and broken now.

 

She was his and she knew it.

 

Something danced behind her eyes and her lips twitched. Her hands slid down his hips and thighs as she rocked forward, a thrusting motion as her cleavage slid up the length of his cock, drawing her dress even lower. He threw his head back and pressed both fists against the wall fighting the urge to throw her onto the table and ravish her. She wasn’t giving up dominance easily and his heart raced even faster. He loved a challenge.

 

Her hands slid up his inner thighs stopped just short of touching him. She kissed his stomach, small delicate flutters of her lips setting his world on fire, tracing down to the top of his breeches. She glanced up at him, drawstring in her teeth.

 

“Maker,” he ran his hands through his hair and bit his lip, “Darienne…. Please…”

 

Her eyes caught his, victory, however brief sparkled in their alluring depths as she looked up at him. In one movement she pulled her head back, releasing the binding on his pants and embracing his throbbing cock in her right hand. So thick was he that her fingers couldn’t close around his girth. Gently she let her fingers caress his length as her other hand loosened his breeches.

 

_By the Goddess,_ she thought as the entirety of his manhood became glaringly evident in her hands, _he’ll tear me in half if he isn’t careful._ The thought both thrilled and terrified her. 

 

A strangled noise escaped his throat as his fists slammed the stone behind him. She was playing with fire and she knew it. Letting the rough cloth fall to the floor, she kissed the sculpted muscle defining his hips as her hands delicately removed his small clothes. The simple garment slid easily down his thighs, letting the warm flesh of his sex rest against the softness of her cleavage.

 

She took her time, exploring him with her hands. There was a thin scar that ran up his inner thigh and pulled at the swollen flesh as it continued disturbingly up the length of his cock coming to a tapered end just beneath the head. She swallowed her shock as she recalled the whispered rumours that he’d been taken by demons and tortured when the Fereldon Circle fell. He had scars enough, but all warriors did. This, this was done with an intimate cruelty that made her fear to look more closely at the map of pale lines that covered his beautiful body. She vowed then and there, as she gazed up at him to protect him from his past with every ounce of her being. Her protector he may be, but she would be his salvation – his safe haven from the world. She looked up into dark amber eyes, fear and longing vying for control.

 

She hid it well. Even so, he heard the telltale catch in her breath when she saw the scar. The things that the desire demon had done to him in that circle prison paled in comparison to the fear of her pity. He held his breath, waiting for her to sit back and look up at him with sad eyes. Waiting for her to look at him like a broken man. She did none of that.

 

Instead, those elegant fingers traced the length of him. Soft, warm palms enveloped his girth as she looked up at him. There was no pity in those beautiful eyes. Flecks of emerald danced in their honeyed light as she caught and held his gaze. There was resolution, awe, lust and dared he hope… something akin to what he imagined to be love.

 

The moment was brief, a heartbeat in a pounding storm of lust thrumming through his body; all but forgotten as her warm breath danced over the glistening bead of moisture crowning the head of his cock. He shivered as pleasure shot through him.

 

“Darienne….”

He leaned hard on the stone, and reached to brush a stray strand of glistening copper from her brow. Leaning her face into his hand, she favoured him with a naughty grin before licking her swollen lips and taking the entirety of him into her warm, wet mouth.

 

His knees went weak as her tongue danced over his flesh, sucking and teasing him from base to head. Instinct took over as his hand grasped the back of her head. His hips began a gentle rhythmical thrust, wide eyes looking up at him as he watched his cock swallowed again and again between perfect lips. Her left hand clasped his base and gave slow, languid tugs as her lips sucked at his tip. Soft, playful fingers traced a line up his thigh and she cupped his sack, heavy with unspent ecstasy.

 

“Maker – ahhh!” words failed him as she closed her lips around him and very slowly took his full length in, a deep hum reverberating in her throat. His loins were fire and ice, the exquisite pain of trying desperately to hold back. Both hands were in her hair, the urge to thrust deeper or pull her away paralyzed him. Without warning she plunged him deep into the back of her throat. Light exploded behind his eyes as he called her named. He was going to lose control. The thought of emptying himself into her mouth – _fuck_ – he needed to stop.

 

“Dari – “ he pushed her back from him, dropping to his knees. Her protests were silenced by the crush of his mouth. Growling, he pulled her hair back with one hand as he loomed over her; his other hand cupping her chin, thumb brushing the moisture from her lips. Her eyes widened at his feral grin and she let out a small gasp as he pulled her against his naked torso. Forcing her head to the side, he leaned in.

 

“My turn…” 

   


	3. The Taste of Lust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cullen said in the previous chapter.... "My turn..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I beg the forgiveness of anyone who speaks Irish... I would love to learn but google translator and an app that is a terrible excuse for a language partner are all I have... I would more than welcome any corrections!
> 
> Mo ghra - my lover  
> Croi daor - dear heart
> 
> Thank you for the wonderful comments so far!

“Cull – !” Her shocked cry was cut off by the force of his weight as the cool stone floor held her beneath him. Deft hands pulled her own over her head and she arched her back as he stretched her out beneath him. The heat of him so close rippled through her and her body responded with its own rushing river. He was naked above her, the fine fabric of her dress doing little to hide the hard press of his cock against her belly. By the Gods he was a lot of man and she fought the urge to beg him to fill her right then and there. Her face must have registered her thoughts, as a satisfied growl rumbled through his body. He’d let her play at control, an illusion she’d actually been naïve enough to believe.

She refused to give in that easily. She refused to let him see that she wanted nothing more than to beg and plead for him to rip into her, tear her asunder – _Gods!_ His mouth was on hers again. There was nothing gentle or hesitant in the way he took her lips. His legs and hips kept her pinned tightly beneath him as his hands began to work their way down her arms. She found her back arching to meet him, craving the heat that pulsed from his hard body. A guttural moan escaped his lips as her bound breasts pressed against the pounding beat of his heart.

The wind came out of her in a startled gasp as his hands left her and he sat up suddenly, straddling her. The stone beneath her pressed cold against her back as she looked up at him. _Goddess_ he was beautiful. Torchlight set his mane of dishevelled curls aflame and danced over the fine sheen of sweat that glistened over the sculpted muscles of his body. She reached for him as though is a dream… as she had in many a fantasy she’d dared not admit to over these passed months.

The man was the epitome of a warrior. She traced the firm line of his thigh, letting her fingers dance over coarse golden curls that met at his core. She paused, wanting to take him in her hands again, wanting to watch as she coaxed the control from those brandy-wine eyes and feel him rupture in her hands, in her mouth… but not yet. Licking her lips, she dragged the back of her hand lazily up the taught muscles of his stomach.

He watched her, a lazy smirk on his lips. Maker, he loved the way she looked at him, but she’d had her turn. Taking her soft hands in his own, he leaned forward, gently kissing her wrists before favouring her with a look that told her playtime was over and she’d spent his patience. At her surprised gasp, he forced her hands firmly against the cool stone and leaned forward taking her mouth with his own again. He felt her press herself against him, her softness melding perfectly with every angle of him. With a swift shift of his hips and legs he hooked her between the knees and laid her spread before him. He nipped at her lip as she tried to swallow a moan.

Pleasure shot through his body. He was beyond caring that her vulnerability was turning him on more than he should have liked. She was his. His. He would take her. He’d warned her and she’d walked into his arms willingly. The pulse in his cock intensified. He could sense her heat, he’d felt the dampness on her thighs. She was ripe for the taking – but not yet. He needed to show her what it was like to beg and call out and plead for more. Only when she was panting and writhing as he lapped up the sweet ambrosia of her pleasure would he take her.

“Mo ghra,” he growled, the old tongue of Ferelden coming to his lips as he hooked his arms through her legs, curling her knees up into the crooks of his elbows. The language was nearly dead now, only taught around the kitchen tables of country folk. The Chantry had forbidden it centuries ago, seeking to unite the masses under one tongue as well as one Chant. It had been years since he’d done more than curse in it. But it was sacred and to be revered; something that was precious and should not be lost… as was the magnificent woman whose hands clung to his shoulders. He nuzzled the plush softness of her cleavage as he lifted her from the floor in one smooth motion.

Her squeak of pleasure turned to a gasp as he lay her down on his desk. He’d felt her sex pressed against his chest as he’d carried her the few strides to where he might better pleasure her. She’d been slick, even through her small clothes. He stood and she tried to clothes her legs.  A swift firm grip on her knees stopped her attempt at modesty.

“I think not,” he purred as he lifted one shapely leg and kissed the inside of her knee. She sat up on her elbows, lower lips teased between her teeth and eyes heady with desire as she watched him. He grinned at her small whimpers as his mouth explored her inner thighs.

His patience was wearing thin as the intoxicating scent of her arousal surrounded him. Warm and spiced with an underlying tartness he wanted to relish over his tongue. With a deft hand, he unlaced her boots while he nipped the soft flesh, and felt her muscles tense, resisting the urge to pull her hips up to meet him.

One soft leather boot tossed to the floor and the other sliding down the gentle curve of her calf when the discordant rigidity of metal disrupted his worship. His breath paused and he gazed up at her as his fingers traced the cool steel of the hilt and fine leather casing of the dagger’s blade. So she had finally headed his advice and carried a small blade even in the hold. A small smile touched his lips as he exhaled a warm breath over the trail of his attentions. Those stunning eyes widened and his cock throbbed at the catch in her breath, almost a whine as he paused his ministrations. He leaned into her thigh, watching her as he slid the small dagger from its hidden sheath, the supple leather boot dropped to the floor forgotten. Favouring her with a wicked grin, he bit the tender softness beneath his lips.

Her hips bucked and her head arched back. The noise from her throat danced along that razor sharp edge of excitement and pain. Cullen growled as lust dizzied him, nipping her again and running his tongue up the cascade of moisture coating her inner thighs. The knowledge that he’d done that to her; that the exquisite woman writhing and panting on his table wanted more…

“Enough,” he growled to himself, the words indistinct beneath the thrum of his rumbling chest. He stood before her, her legs spread wide around his thighs. Leaning over her, he flipped the dagger over with a practiced hand, “I apologize croi daor, this dress is beautiful…”

The blade felt like ice as the flat of it grazed her skin. The hiss of steel parting silk echoed in her ears as the dress she’d been wearing was torn asunder in one fluid flick of the Commander’s wrist. In the same movement, her head was thrown back by the force of his bare hands tearing off her breast band.  Her pulse quickened and the throb of need in her quim made her whimper and open herself up to him yet further.

“Maker’s Breath – “ the woman laying before him stole his voice as she lay back on his desk. Even lust paused to admire the exquisite muse bared before him. The glow of fire light and the dance of shadows over the lush curves of her body entranced him. Golden desire mingled with emerald passion as those hazel eyes beckoned him from beneath dark lashes. Her soft pink tongue played across her rose flushed lips – lips he remembered well taking in his cock, sucking him, teasing him… he groaned, grappling for control lest he spill himself over her succulent little body.

Gingerly, he reached out and traced his thick calloused finger over those beautiful lips, afraid that the vision before him might dissolve as it had in so many of his dreams. She stayed. She was real. Taking the tip of his finger in her mouth and kissing it with a slow circle of her tongue and the slightest suction. Andraste preserve him…

He leaned forward, cupping her face in his hand, then tracing the delicate line of her jaw down her neck. His big hands spread over her delicate shoulders as he pulled back to watch as her breasts heaved with the arch in her back. Lust had given way for tenderness only to return with a rawness that saturated his entire being. The face of a goddess and the buxom body of every tavern tale’s wanton harlot.

He ran his hands over her collar bone and cupped her large, full tits. Kneading one round breast with his hand, he played at the taut bud between his thumb and forefinger.  She bit her lip and whimpered as he took the other pert rosy bud into his mouth. He let his tongue circle the soft areola as the nipple stiffened and seemed to beg for his attentions. Satisfied that he’d teased long enough he began to suck and nip at the precious nub between his lips eliciting a symphony of whimpers and moans from the woman beneath him.

His cock pressed hard against the softness of her thigh, he could feel his hips beginning to shift. He wanted her. He wanted those fine tits to brush and bounce against his chest as he fucked her. But he would have the taste of her first. He grasped her small waist and began frantically kissing and nipping at the soft flesh of her stomach. Even the muscle beneath did not wholly take away the sweet gentle suppleness he would lay upon when he’d filled her to bursting. Curvaceous hips yielded beneath his hands and lips. Hips that swayed as she walked through his waking dreams. Hips he knew he’d be gripping hard as he made her scream.

The thin fabric of her small clothes was soaked to the point of being sheer. He could see the succulent lips of her quim as the flimsy fabric clung to the delectable morsel. He groaned as the heady scent of her sex enveloped him.

“Darienne…” he groaned as he ran a finger down the length of the moist fabric, pressing just enough to part the delicate folds beneath.

“Cullen – !” her plaintive cry cut short as she gasped, bucking her hips. He glanced away from the entrancing sight of her writhing hips and watched her breasts bounce with each heaving breath. Her own small hands instinctively played at the firm buds and reaching over that beautiful stomach to show him her desire.  He was undone.

“As my lady wishes,” he growled, hooking a finger through the thin fabric and tearing it with no effort. He did not wait to admire the glossy plushness of her, but buried his face between the slickened plumpness of her quim. Her cries and the heady taste of her spiced sex drove him mad. How many times had he fantasized about this? How many times had he lain alone in bed imagining her, working his shaft to bittersweet release.

Forcing himself to slow down, he pulled back, licking the sweet dessert from his lips. She whined softly as he left her exposed to the cool air of his breath alone. Swallowing as he gathered himself, he gently kissed below her belly button, tracing his lips and tongue to the small patch of soft auburn curls that framed her pussy. He sat up on his haunches and ran his hands down her inner thigh, letting his thumbs caress the flushed folds before spreading them and blowing a gentle breath on the precious cherry within.

His sweet Darienne shuddered and bit her lip. Desperate for something to grab onto, she grasped at the desk, clenching one missive or another in frustrated ecstasy. Gently he began tracing circles around and over the glistening little pearl. Her plaintive cries for more bringing his breath faster and faster.

“Cullen –mmmm” she panted, reaching to run her hands through the damp curls falling over his brow, “I want you inside me – please…”

He wanted to feel her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him deeper, urging him to lick her out and lap up the rush of her orgasm. He teased her plump pearl between his large thumb and forefinger, eliciting a cry for more. His own breath began to come in heavy panting groans as he slid his hand up and cupped her sex in his palm, rubbing and pushing just a little, a subtle teasing of the motion and force that his pubic bone would do to those lush, swollen folds when he was pounding his cock into her sweet little pussy.

Thrusting her thighs further up onto his shoulders, he slid his slick palm down and ran his tongue over her before taking the bud of her clitoris between his lips, sucking gently on it as his fingers circled the sensitive entrance to her core. Darienne gasped and pulled his face deeper, panting and moaning as she lifted her legs yet further granting him access to anything he cared to take.

Cullen worried at her with his tongue before beginning a slow and rhythmical sucking that sent a shiver through the woman at his mercy. Gently he probed her, sliding two fingers into her tight little quim. Maker she was taut and warm and wet. He groaned, knowing she’d take him in. Knowing he’d stretch her and tear her and she’d scream for more. He curved his fingers and began to stroke the delicate place he knew would undo her.

It didn’t take long before her sweet thighs wrapped around his face and she bucked into him, calling his name. Her muscles shivered and danced in a rhythm that made his breath catch. She’d milk him dry. Maker’s breath, he wanted that. He wanted to be buried in her. Now.

She still trembled beneath his lips as he withdrew his fingers and rubbed the slick juices of her come over the engorged head of his shaft. There was no more waiting. He pulled back from her sweet pussy and lifted her further onto the table. He was up and over her in the same fluid motion, wiping away anything that would impede his goal. He wanted to indulge in the pleasure of tasting his way to her lips but his need overcame him.

He cupped the back of her head in one hand, gently pulling her hair back that she might look up at him. The other grasped her hips, those beautiful round hips that he would cling too until this night became the next. His breath faltered as her soft hands slid up his chest and over his shoulders, pulling his lips to hers.

He bent to her, his hips taught with the tension of his remaining restraint. She took his mouth with unbridled passion, accepting the force of his kiss and returning it with her own desire. She lifted her leg to wrap the beautiful limb around his waist, shifting her hips to beckon him. He could feel the heat of her so close to him. His cock thrummed with need and he pressed the heavy tip against her wet heat.   _Maker_ , he was lost. How could he take her? How could he ask of her what he wanted? How could he ask her to love a broken man?

He pushed her hips down hard, her surprised gasp lending to the barest of his control. Pulling back from her, he looked into her eyes, praying for the words.

“Darienne,” his voice a husky whisper, “Darienne, mo ghra, is this… am I... what you want?”


	4. Roar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you let the lion out of the cage?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm on vacation... but just had to write more.... 
> 
> Sea mo leannan - yes my lover  
> Ta tu mianach. Ta me mise. (You are mine. I am yours)

Was he what she wanted?

 

The question barely registered through the cacophony of her own heartbeat in her ears. How could he doubt? How could he question her feelings for him after she fought so hard to bring his own to the surface? After she offered herself so openly?

 

She grit her teeth and a frustrated growl escaped her lips as she struggled to think beyond the yearning that burned so keenly throughout her body. She loved this man. Loved him in a way she’d never believed possible outside of the fairytales Disney that weened all young children of her old home. Her old life.

 

A rush of hazy images crowded her mind, half remembered dreams now, after so long in the world of Thedas. None held meaning any longer. This was her home now. This was her life. The man trembling above her… Cullen, fallen Templar and Commander of the Inquisition… he, with his steadfast pride, stoic demeanor in all things but this… and the roar of a lion in the heat of passion and war… he was her heart.

 

“Cullen,” she ran one hand gently up the back of his neck, her flingers dancing through the damp curls that grazed his nape. Looking into his eyes, molten gold pools that warmed her very soul, she brushed her thumb over his stubbled jaw and scarred lips. Lips that held so very much power over her. She marveled for the briefest of moments how his words and his kiss could so command her world. Could so command her. She looked again into those beautiful eyes, knowing that she would gladly give herself to any words uttered and any kiss given… or taken, “Cullen, I am yours. Make me yours…”

 

“Sea mo leannan,” his voice barely a whisper in her ear. Cupping her face in one hand he tightened his grip and pulled her hips up to meet him with the other, “Ta tu mianach. Ta me mise.”

 

He watched those beautiful earthbound emeralds widen as his grip tightened on the tender flesh of her hips and the hard tip of his cock brushed the plump folds of her soaking quim. Her tongue moistened her sweet cupid lips and she arched her back into him; dusky rose nipples brushing over his chest. He could take no more. A prayer to Andraste for forgiveness left his lips, more growl than words. He grasped her slender neck and shoulder from beneath and held her fast as he gripped her small waist. She was his now.

 

He pressed his throbbing head to her succulent core and revelled in the sweet tightness of her flesh. Her nails dug into his back and she gasped, calling his name as his cock unfurled her tight little pussy. Burying his head in her neck, he bit her shoulder as his chest rumbled, trying desperately to maintain some form of control. He couldn’t thrust with the full force of his lust, not yet. Reaching desperately for the softness of her thigh, he grabbed the supple limb that enfolded him. Maker help him, he managed to slow his pace, taking her inch by exquisite inch.

 

Clinging to his back, Darienne gasped and swore he would tear her asunder. Every inch of him stretched her and the pleasure brought his name to her lips over and over. She wanted more. She could feel his muscles trembling with restraint. She wanted to break him. She wanted to know what her lion would do unleashed. Tightening her thighs around him without warning, she grabbed his hair and pulled him to her lips, rocking her hips up into him, seating him deeper.

 

The crushing grip on her thigh lasted but a moment as a groan escaped his lips. He pulled her back, his eyes closed and breath uneven as he tried to maintain control.

 

“Dari – “ her name morphed into a growl in his throat as she ran her nails down his back, clinging to his hips as he had hers. The last vestiges of his control dissolved beneath those delicate fingers.  Her lush little body bowed beneath the force of his thrust, her breath caught between the shivering sigh of ecstasy and the husky moan of desire. Her heat engulfed him and her sweet quim gripped him as only a woman might.

 

Pleasure rode over him as he filled her. She danced beneath him, their rhythms melding as his passion began to simmer. The table beneath began to groan under the force of his thrusts. There was nothing but the ecstasy of her warm sweet pussy and the lush softness of her body in his hands. Her cries and the succulent sound of his cock as he sheathed himself to the hilt in her core were symphonies in his ears. His own breath came in grunts and growls as he feasted on her plump lips and nipped her slender neck and shoulder.

 

Her nails grasped his shoulders and those beautiful legs lifted further around his waist, pulling him closer. He hooked his arm beneath one knee and took her harder and deeper. He felt the warm suction of her creamy ass as his heavy balls pressed against her as he buried himself between her luscious legs. She screamed his name and he buried his answering roar in her silken hair.

 

Darienne’s heart trembled as her lion rode her passion beyond her ken. The flush of heat began to blossom where he touched her deepest secrets. She felt herself tighten, his size bringing her to that delicate knife edge of pleasure and pain. Her body ignited, ecstasy overwhelmed her and she clung to him; riding the ever increasing waves of rapture as his name burst from her lips.

 

He groaned as her body gripped his own, her sweet quim tightening around his cock. The sweet music of her lips calling his name drove him beyond reason. His steady pace faltered as his hips drove deeper, seeking to take her core and feel her deepest pleasures. His drive to fill her, to empty himself into her, became overwhelming. Her orgasm overtook him and his world exploded.

 

Pleasure coarsed through him, funneling to the base of his spine before shattering him. There was nothing but her. He sat up, pulling her hips to him and thrusting himself deeper than either of them thought possible. She arched her back, breasts trembling with the force of his thrust. Her hands grasped at the edges of the desk, seeking purchase as his power shook her to the core. His name echoed in his ears as she called for him again and again.

 

She was ethereal in her rapture. His body quaked with the explosion of his own ecstasy. He threw his head back and roared, her name a prayer on his lips. He felt his balls tighten as her sweet little pussy milked him. He sheathed himself yet deeper in his love as he filled her with his seed. He felt her quiver beneath the surge of his frenzied cum as he emptied himself into the woman he loved.

 

Her soft body cushioned him as he collapsed onto her, nuzzling her neck and whispering a rhapsody of endearments into her ear. Her soft lips kissed his cheek and delicate fingers traced lazy circles on his shoulders. Maker, he loved her. His body protested as her precious core trembled at his size, he wanted to stay buried in her warmth, he wanted to hold her forever.

 

Reluctantly, he withdrew. Her sigh of disappointment made his heart ache with yet more longing. Propping himself onto his elbows, he looked at the radiant woman beneath him. Her eyes, heavy with remembered passion gazed back at him. A tentative smile graced those beautiful lips and his heart lit up. Gently he pressed his lips to her brow, her nose, her cheeks and finally that sumptuous mouth. She relinquished herself to him and parted her lips to let him take her gently. Pulling back, he returned her smile and caressed her silky cheek.

 

“Mo gra,” he whispered, “my love. Darienne, my darling, I love you.”


	5. A Brief Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected interruption, Companion mischief and a small dream for a small boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh... sorry for the delay, it's been a rough couple of weeks. Hoping to be able to get back to writing regularly! Thank you for your patience! 
> 
> Also thank you so much for your kind comments! They really make a huge difference for me and encourage me so much when it feels like writer's block looms. I am very grateful!

Hayden hurried along the battlements, cradling his precious cargo in skinny arms. His gangly limbs were all but tangled as his young body seemed to betray him at every turn these days. Stumbling, he cursed under his breath, managing to maintain his grip on the bottle of what Master Pavus had warned him was a very fine wine – the Tevinter mage’s less than subtle reminder that it cost more than his entire family’s yearly wage – and that it was a gift. A gift that he was supposed to deliver to the Commander himself!

He ignored the inquisitive looks of the patrolmen as he darted between them. He dared not stop to gaze out over the battlement walls at the night sky and the camps of the Inquisitions army throughout the valley. An army he would one day join. Clutching the basket tighter to his chest, he approached the closed door of the Commander’s office. Two guards stood stone faced about 10 feet from the door.

Thoughts of meeting the Commander in person slowed Hayden’s gait as he tried to collect himself. He’d seen the man from a distance when he would sneak away from his duties to watch the recruits train. He remembered the thrill in his chest when he’d hear that deep bass roar at the men and women at arms. His hands would itch when he watched the man draw his weapon and correct their technique through demonstration of skill. His mouth went dry as he came abreast of the two guards.

Warily, he glanced at them as he passed. A burly dwarf, whose expression was hidden under a beard as fierce as his eyes and a tall slender elf, all but the tight line of her lips hidden beneath the domed helm common among the foot soldiers. He was reminded once again of why he respected the Commander to the point of hero worship. The man didn’t care about the shape of your ears. Unconsciously, Hayden rebalanced the basket in his hands and brushed straw coloured hair behind his tapered ears. Pulling himself up to his full height, coltish limbs awkward and disobedient as ever, he attempted a salute at the guards.

“I am to bring this to Commander Rutherford at once sers,” he cringed inwardly as his voice cracked. Whether the penance of youth coming to manhood or his anxiety, he didn’t much care anymore. The sovereigns that Master Pavus had given him and Master Tethras had promised him weighed heavily in his pocket.

A look passed between the guards. The elf’s lips twitched and the dwarf’s beard spoke.

“Hmph,” the voluminous moustache quivered, “I doubt as the Commander would be happy with you interrupting him just now, young’un.”

Fear shot through Hayden. The last thing he wanted was to meet his hero and anger him. His courage faltered as he looked at the closed door.

“Who sent you?” the elf’s voice surprised him and he looked at the fine sword her hand gently rested on. He would give anything to one day be in her place. Anything.

“Err,” he fumbled through another salute, “Master Tethras and Mater Pavus sers! They said I was to deliver these gifts and the note there in immediately… sers.”

The two glanced at each other, then the elf sauntered over to the door and put her ear to it. Hayden’s anxiety ate at him. There were not enough sovereigns in the world to make him risk the ire of the Commander. The elf stood in stillness at the door for what felt like an age to Hayden. Then, with a subtle nod, she stepped back and returned to her post. The helm tilted towards the straw-haired youngling,

“If you’re going to do it, now would be the time. We are not responsible for what he does…”

The elf returned her gaze forward and her lips returned to the impassive line of duty. Hayden glanced at the dwarf, his brow waggled ever so slightly and he grumbled,

“Well, get on with it whelp! I’ll not be put on latrine duty because you or your ‘Masters’ want to prod the damned lion in his den.”  

He swallowed and looked at the imposing door. He’d promised the mage and the rogue that he’d do it and he always kept his word. Besides, he took a deep breath and walked to the door, how could he have any hope of becoming a great warrior if he didn’t even have to courage to face his future Commander.

His knock sounded hollow and discordant with the silence around him. There was a deep rumble from within the forbidden chamber and Hayden had nightmarish visions of an angry lion coming to the door and tearing him apart on the spot. Below that foreboding thunder, there was a soft melodic sound. It made him think of birdsongs after a storm. A woman’s voice? The surprise of the idea that the Commander could be… entertaining a woman hit him like a punch to the gut. He knew well, everyone knew well, who that woman might be. The Inquisitor.

Panic made him nearly drop his offerings as the door opened and the shadow of Commander Rutherford fell over him.

“What.”

The man towered over him. He was naked but for a pair of breeches tied loosely around his waist. Hayden had never been so close to the man before. Shocked he stared open mouthed for a moment, seeing for the first time what being a warrior could mean. Commander Rutherford was heavily muscled from years of training and just as heavily scarred. Pride mastered any fear of the warrior’s life that those scars might have tried to forge in the young elf’s heart. The Commander’s impatient growl brought him and his tenuous situation rushing back to the forefront of his mind.

“Ser… Commander, Ser!” Hayden attempted his best salute only to feel the bottle of the Tevinter mage’s precious wine slip from his trembling hands. His heart sank. The inevitable crash never happened. The Commander’s hand darted out so quickly he caught the doomed vintage before the stone beneath shattered it and its very expensive contents at his feet. Standing, the blond warrior examined the bottle and looked at the trembling elf with renewed interest. “Master Pavus and Master Tethras bade me to bring these to you immediately, Commander… Ser.”

The gangly young elf thrust the basket he coddled towards him. There was a sealed envelope amidst the fragrant offerings within. Food. Maker’s Breath, he frowned, did the entire Keep know? He let out a sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. Even the antics of that blasted dwarf and his mage conspirator couldn’t dim his mood. He had to admit, upon closer examination of the basket, that he had worked up something of an appetite. A smile tugged at his lips. She’d need her strength if she was going to survive the night he had planned…

The small gasp of the young elf drew his attention back to the present. The lad stared open mouthed passed him, before blushing to the tips of his ears and looking at the floor. A quick glance behind him and he more than understood.

Darienne stood by his desk, the tattered remains of her dress clutched against her, doing a poor job of hiding her magnificent body. Pressed against her chest and falling in a tumble of fabric past her knees, it served only to enhance the curves of her full breasts and round hips. She was as covered as she could be considering what he’d done to the flimsy garment – he had no regrets. He smiled wolfishly at the boy.

“So those two rogues pressed you into this did they? What did they pay you?” He tried to soften his voice, despite the urge to return to the lush beauty teasing him with her coyness.

“A sovereign Commander,” the boy stammered, “each.”

“Ahhh,” Cullen frowned, that was a lot of money for a young man of his apparent station. “And what do you intend to do with it…”

“Hayden, Commander,” the boy stood proudly for the first time and saluted him with significantly more coordination than he had previously, “I intend to buy a practice sword and some armour… ser.”

There was a light in his eyes when he said it and a fervor in his voice. The gangly tangle of limbs, so common in boys as they reached for manhood was infused with a temporary grace. The boy had heart. Cullen looked a little closer at him. There was something familiar about him.

“How long have you been at Skyhold lad?”

“A little over a fortnight, ser. I came from the alienage at Denerim.”

“And your family?” Cullen knew well the ravages that city’s elves had suffered. He was not surprised that the boy might have set out to try to find a better future than the one offered him there.

“My father works for your Quartermaster, ser. My mother,” the boy hesitated. Cullen saw the sadness pushed back and the courage of living in the present, not the past vye for control, “She was lost in the plagues of the Blight ser.”

Cullen nodded. Any placations would sound hollow, and the boy did not seek sympathy, so none was given.

“So, what do you do here in Skyhold – besides run errands for rogues?” He glanced behind him, she was listening intently to his conversation, a small smile tugging at swollen lips. He groaned inwardly, but his conscience and his heart cooled the fanning embers in his loins. There was a chance to make a difference here, to this one young man, as had been done with him. Despite all that had happened to him, he did not regret it. He only hoped the young elf in front of him would not either.

“I deliver messages and help with the laundries, ser,” Hayden saluted, then seemed about to say something else before swallowing and remaining silent.

“Yet you would spend your new found wealth on armour and a sword?” Cullen watched the boy closely.

“Yes ser,” he looked the much larger man in the eye for the first time.

“Mayhap that money would be better spent elsewhere lad,” Cullen stepped forward and put his hand on a slender shoulder. He rushed on as defeat dulled the young elf’s eyes. “I recognize you now. You stand and watch the morning exercises. I’ve seen you run the gauntlet in the evening hours while the recruits are at dinner.”

Shock left the young man at a loss for words. Cullen smiled. Yes, the boy just needed a chance, the rest would be up to him.

“Hayden, you say?” Cullen leaned back against the doorframe, well aware of the beautiful hazel eyes watching him from within, “report to Lieutenant Wosely at first bell tomorrow. Tell her I sent you and she will help you enlist.”

The boy gaped like a cod.

“Well, off with you recruit!” Cullen smirked, “First bell comes early.”

Hayden stood dumbly for a moment or two after the Commander dismissed him and closed the door. He vaguely remembered the beautiful Inquisitor winking at him in in approval. Him! A recruit! He let out a whoop and then hunched, mouth covered as though the Dread Wolf might come up and swallow his dreams right then and there. Giddily, he ran passed the guards and towards he and his father’s small quarters. He had no recollection of his feet even touching the ground.

The dwarf and the elf glanced at each other but remained silent. Their Commander never ceased to amaze them. Unconsciously they stood a little taller and each smiled their own private smile.


End file.
